


The Empty Frame

by MissandMarauder



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Department of Mysteries, F/M, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Not AS sad as the warnings imply, Portraits, Still HEA, Time Travel, Time Turner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 21:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12219171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissandMarauder/pseuds/MissandMarauder
Summary: Hermione can't figure out why Headmaster Snape's portrait is so interested in her work in the Department of Mysteries. Or why he insists that she needs to break the rules she loves so well to travel back in time.





	The Empty Frame

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a W&B Prompt by arcticcat621. Thank you for the inspiration!

Headmaster Snape's portrait had never been particularly kind to Hermione, but lately, it was acting decidedly odd. The gaze of the deceased Potions Master, black as ravens' wings, tracked her movements without any hint of decorum as he urged her, as he always did, to travel back in time.

"It's your destiny," he insisted, his voice as beautiful to listen to as his words were cutting.

"There are at least twenty reasons why that is not possible, not to mention a horrible idea, and I'm not sure why you keep trying to convince me otherwise, Professor," she shot back, any venom her tone might have carried lost to the first dozen times they'd had this conversation, months before.

_The portrait of Professor Snape had, much to portrait Professor Dumbledore's amusement, put in a request to be moved to the Department of Mysteries to aid in research there. He hadn't fooled his predecessor one bit, and the older man simply joined Severus in his portrait, patting him on the shoulder in affection._

" _She'll be there soon, won't she?" he had asked, Severus cursing the ridiculous twinkle in his eye._

" _We both know you already know the answer to that question." the Slytherin had drawled, well past the point of annoyance with the older man._

Drawing his mind back to the present, Snape continued his efforts to convince the stubborn Gryffindor, who was looking more like the woman from his memories with each passing day. She was still shaking her head adamantly, and he thought he caught the stomp of a foot beneath her Unspeakable robes.

"We both know all the  _very good_ reasons for why I can't go back. The mess Eloise Mintumble made for herself, not to mention Professor Croaker's Law,  _proves_ that travelling any further back than a few hours can change the course of time, if not prove deadly for the time traveller and possibly even entire family lines, as they cease to exist in the instant that past events dictate they will no longer be born. If those reasons aren't good enough for you, then the fact that all my friends are here should be." Her ridiculous curls sparked, and he tried not to think too fondly of the furious young woman before him.

After all, she wasn't  _his_ yet.

The pain of knowing he'd lived and lost, and that she would do the same, added an extra dose of acid to his already scathing tone. "I wonder which will get you killed faster—your loyalty or your stubbornness?"

She rolled her eyes, accustomed as she was to his moods after interacting with her so much over the past five years as she worked in the Department of Mysteries. "Keeping the rules does not have to be a bad thing, Professor. I know that's not always the case with potions, as you proved in your copy of  _Moste Potente Potions._ But experimenting with time is another matter entirely. I cannot, in good conscience, take that step, no matter how motivated you may be to see the results of this particular experiment." The magic coursing along her hair was starting to cause it to billow out, so she huffed and bound it back into a plait, fastening it with a conjured hair tie.

Severus had seen her do that so many times—in the recent and distant past—that it made the reality of what he needed to do all the more urgent. Gritting his painted teeth, he managed to growl, "What if I told you that you'd already done it?"

She'd turned to face away from him slightly as she'd pulled her hair back, but his question sent her whirling around again to face him. "What did you say?"

He scoffed. "We both know you heard me, Granger. No need to pretend with me."

The blush of her righteous indignation was gone from her cheeks, replaced with a nervous pallor. "H-how can you know that?" she asked, seemingly almost at a loss for words.

It was the first time he'd ever seen her that way, save in the throes of passion and peace of slumber, and he'd pat himself on the back if he wasn't absolutely certain it would brass the young witch off even more.

Rolling his eyes at her stunned face, he said, "I knew you, in the past. I am absolutely certain you travel back in time, and if my calculations are correct, soon."

"Then why—?" she hesitated, gesturing to the empty frame hanging opposite Severus' portrait.

He waited, unable to find the words with so much tension between them and so much riding on this moment.

He could not afford to mess this up.

Chocolate eyes got impossibly wider, turning to meet his gaze with a look of awe mixed with panic. "You don't mean—I—that's impossible!" she stuttered, raking a hand into her hair and pulling a few curls free by mistake. She paced furiously, mumbling incoherently to herself.

"I have proof." The gravity of his voice caused her to stop short, hand over her mouth as she observed him—as if she could use Legilimency on a painting—and on the greatest Occlumens of all time, at that.

He scoffed internally at the thought but kept his musings to himself.

Her brilliant mind only needed a moment to catch up, and he could nearly see the cogs whirring at breakneck speed in her head. "Show me."

He gave her instructions on where to find the diaries, all in Headmistress McGonagall's safekeeping, locked away behind wards only Severus knew the counterspell for. The hour it took her to obtain the little stack of leather-bound books went slower than any other in Severus' relatively short lifetime, and he tried not to get his hopes up. He didn't know for certain when his love left this time to save him from himself so soon after Lily died. He only knew that this version of Hermione Granger was exactly how he remembered meeting the woman who later became his wife. Though her friends meant a lot to her, they'd moved on with their lives. Hermione only had her research. Both Doctors Granger had died in the war, a car crash on the way to the airport snatching them from the escape to safety that their daughter had so carefully crafted. She'd never married; her work kept her far too busy to date anyone seriously—Severus made sure of that.

She read the journals at a furious pace, and Severus almost worried that she'd rip the pages in her haste. He occupied himself with thoughts of the memories contained in the scrawl of ink on parchment there, and he felt the potential energy of the moment swirling around the room in an invisible whirlwind of magic. Time stopped and raced forward, all at once, as he watched the face of the woman he'd loved so dearly. The woman he'd lost before their life together had even really had a chance to begin. She'd been the only good thing in a sea of so much darkness, and his heart still ached at the thought of the way he'd lost her to the birth of their son so soon before her younger self had started at Hogwarts.

He knew he'd been awful to the little know-it-all that had been his past-future (it all got a bit confusing) wife. But now here she was, all soft curves and amber eyes and hair just  _made_ for twirling around his long, slender fingers. He rejoiced for his younger self, knowing so much happiness lay ahead, long before the loss he'd suffer, and that there was still a possibility of a happy ending.

It took hours for her to finish the journals, reading long into the night by candlelight. Snape normally would have dozed in his chair by this point in the night, but he was too tightly wound from the scene transpiring before him to contemplate even a moment's rest. When she finally closed the last journal, gently, reverently, as if to treat the words kindly now that she knew they were her own, she simply said, "I'll go."

The jump back through the years was really rather simple after that. There were still various Time-Turners in the Department of Mysteries, including the one she, herself, had used in third year.

How painful a reminder that had been of his wife and the way she'd literally fallen through time to be with him.

She left the room, he thought for good, and surprised him when she returned.

"Thank you." The words were simple but heartfelt, a testament to the way he'd given her purpose, clarity, a mission.

The woman was absolutely nutty when it came to her need to have a project, but he could hardly fault her for it. He'd been her favourite one, as she was so fond of reminding him.

And then she was gone, a halo of golden light springing up around her to transport her back through the years.

The silence of her absence was deafening. Severus closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight a world without her in it for another moment.

"Fancy seeing you here."

His eyes flew open, instantly boring into the canvas of the previously empty frame before him.

There she was. All curls and smiles and curves, just like he remembered. A few tiny laugh lines aged the corners of her eyes and mouth, but he loved her all the more for them. A baby boy slept in her arms, and Severus wondered how she'd already managed to bring their son from the frame he'd previously called home in Snape's quarters at Hogwarts. The sight of her, happy and alive, as much as she could be called that, brought tears to his eyes, and he rushed through the frame of his portrait into hers, nearly toppling her with the force of his hug.

"I missed you," she whispered, tears streaming down her face to match his own.

"Don't leave me again," he begged, unable to hide the raw desperation in his tone.

"I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
